


what's expected of you, what's expected of me

by spiralingcosmos



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Season/Series 02, i suck at tagging oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28720800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiralingcosmos/pseuds/spiralingcosmos
Summary: House and Wilson are going to talk about their feelings one way or another, and if House's ducklings have to orchestrate that themselves, well...
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi gang. so i have brainrot! anyways enjoy this wholly self indulgent fic that was mostly written at very unreasonable hours over the course of like a week. sorry if everyone is mildly ooc i'm not used to writing them yet oops. all the medical stuff in here is gleaned solely through prior knowledge, about two hours of research, and a load of bullshit! this takes place in late season 2, like after wilson moves out but before the euphoria arc. initially this was gonna be like 2000 words MAX so we see how that worked out huh! 
> 
> title is from dead weight by jack stauber

House and Wilson were arguing again.

The team was sitting in the conference room, pretending like they weren’t eavesdropping on the conversation and really doing an awful job of it. Of course, the pair were too absorbed in the topic of today’s dispute -- House had been an ass again, and Wilson was attempting to tell him off for it -- to notice the three heads looking back and forth between them.

“Fine,” House was yelling, signalling that the discussion was over. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a _patient_.”

Wilson shook his head, exasperated, but the hint of fondness that crept into his eyes was impossible to miss. As House moved to enter the conference room, he paused and said something to him a little more quietly, so that the team had to strain to hear. Just lunch plans, it sounded like. 

When House actually came in, three heads snapped back down; the table had suddenly become very interesting.

“Alright, whaddaya got?”

Foreman leaned over the table to hand House the file before he began his spiel. “23-year-old female, claims she’s exhausted all the time and rest doesn’t help. Came in with low blood pressure. She also complains of nausea, lightheadedness upon standing, joint and abdominal pain, and has hyperpigmentation in her hands.”

House pondered it for a moment, deciding whether or not the case was interesting enough. “You said she had low blood pressure. Who tested that?”

“ER did. She passed out and hit her head pretty good, from what I hear,” Foreman explained.

“Eh. Boring. What else is there?”

Foreman shrugged. “Slow day.”

“Ugh, fine,” House grumbled. “Whatever. DDX, go.”

“Could be myalgic encephalomyelitis,” Cameron suggested. Behind her, House jotted the symptoms Foreman had just read off on the whiteboard. “Explains the fatigue, low blood pressure, and pain.”

Foreman shook his head. “Chronic fatigue doesn’t usually cause nausea, and doesn’t account for the hyperpigmentation either.”

“Hemochromatosis,” Chase volunteered.

House snorted from where he stood at the front of the room. “I know things are upside-down back home, but in America, excess iron in the blood usually causes _high_ blood pressure. Hers is _low_.”

Chase leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, mumbling something or other about hyperpigmentation. Foreman shifted in his seat.

“Hyperthyroidism seems most likely,” he said decisively. “It’s pretty common in women, and accounts for nearly everything.”

“Nearly is not all,” House pointed out helpfully. Foreman rolled his eyes.

“Hold on,” Chase countered. “Since when does hyperthyroidism cause hyperpigmentation?”

“Increased capillary fragility from thyrotoxicosis can lead to hyperpigmentation. Can also cause hemosiderin deposition and basal melanosis,” Foreman replied coolly.

“And the low blood pressure?” 

“Maybe she just… has low blood pressure. It happens.”

“Yeah, and maybe she just _has_ hyperpigmentation in her hands. It’s not that likely,” Chase argued. 

House wrote _hyperthyroidism_ on the board. “I like it. Anything else?”

“Whipple disease would explain the hypotension, the nausea, the joint and abdominal pain, and the hyperpigmentation.” Cameron flipped through the file as she spoke. Chase nodded his head in approval.

“Anyone notice if her lymph nodes were abnormally large?”

“Haven’t actually seen the patient yet,” Chase admitted. 

House sighed dramatically. “Fine. Chase, you go get a detailed history. Check her lymph nodes, find out if she’s had any fat in her stool, and find out stuff for the hyperthyroidism too. You two, go get blood. Test thyroxine and TSH levels for the hyperthyroidism, get a small intestine biopsy for the Whipple, and check her A1C.”

Foreman frowned. “There’s been nothing to indicate unusual blood glucose levels.”

“Just check it. Cover our bases. Chase, when you’re done, go to the patient’s house, find out if there’s anything there that she’s not telling us about. Medications, whatever.”

Tasks assigned, House wasted no time in escaping the conference room, undoubtedly intending to annoy Wilson until Cuddy found him and forced him to go to the clinic, leaving the other three to walk to the patient’s room together. 

Idle gossip always tended to revolve around hospital affairs, and even more frequently, around who was sleeping with who, and things were no different with House’s team.

“I’m just saying,” Chase huffed as Cameron pushed the button for the elevator, “both of them have been in relationships with women before. It’s just not likely.”

The doors slid open and Foreman stepped in, shaking his head. The other two followed him through. “Bisexual people do exist, Chase.”

“I’m not saying--”

“Have either of you two ever met House? If he actually _liked_ someone, like really liked them, he would be the _last_ to know. He’s more repressed than anyone I’ve ever met,” Cameron mused. Foreman laughed.

“You wanna bet?” Chase challenged, looking at Foreman with what was probably supposed to be menace. The elevator touched down on the ground floor, and the trio disembarked towards the patient’s room.

“Sure,” he agreed. “What are we betting on, exactly?”

“Either the two of them are completely heterosexual, or they... aren't,” Chase decided.

Foreman nodded. “Cameron, you in?”

She grinned. “Fifty dollars on repression.”

“I second that.”

Chase shook his head, smiling like he’d already won. “Hundred bucks on mine.”

-

“Seems like a fairly mundane case by your standards,” Wilson remarked as he sat down to eat. 

House sighed overdramatically. “It’s _so_ lame, but we haven’t had a case in, like, two weeks, and I don’t want the kids getting too bored. I think Cameron bites.”

Wilson chuckled at that, and House found he didn’t have much else to say. Wilson was… kind of cute when he laughed.

Wait. No. Fuck.

Distraction. Distraction. Uh… Wilson had fries. Excellent.

“Are you gonna eat those?” He asked, trying to keep the slightly frayed tone out of his voice.

“Yeah, wh-- hey, no!” Wilson moved to shield his tray from House at the exact moment the other man reached for the fries.

House glanced up, blue eyes glinting with mischief, and accidentally met Wilson’s laughing brown ones. He paused, hand lingering not quite in mid-air; he felt Wilson’s fingers beneath his own. They held each other’s gaze for a minute, maybe longer, the humor leached from the moment.

Oh.

_Oh_.

Oh, god, no. 

“I have to go,” they both blurted out in unison, and then looked at each other strangely, and then walked off as quickly as they could in opposite directions.

Back in his own office, House balanced his oversized tennis ball on the end of his cane and resumed his usual game of tossing it up and catching it. He was thinking.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know he was bisexual. He’d known for a while. It just wasn’t exactly something he was very public about. 

But this, well… this wasn’t something he wanted to know. Most romantic feelings for friends were better off being squashed down and forgotten for as long as possible. Especially when said friend was really the only damn person in the world who actually liked him. And, y’know. Straighter than Chase, who practically oozed Catholic repression out of every pore. Although, he really doubted Chase's heterosexuality, so maybe he wasn't the best comparison.

“God,” House groaned, dropping the ball and cane and burying his face in his hands. Normally, right about now, he would go badger Wilson to clock out early and go get wasted with him. This, however, hardly qualified as “normally.”

He should go talk to someone. Cuddy, maybe. She knew lots about relationships. So did… Wilson. Not him, who else? Cameron, but then again, she was kind of into him, wasn’t she? Maybe if she thought he was talking about her, she’d help, but her advice would be tailored towards _her_ needs. Foreman, maybe? If he wanted to get this held over his head for the rest of time, sure. 

House picked up the ball from the ground and bounced it against the ground. God, this was gonna suck.

-

Wilson went the long way back to his office in order to avoid seeing House again. 

Moments like that, the weirdly charged ones that carried far more weight than they really should, didn’t occur too often. When they did, the two of them would avoid each other for a few hours; House, because he was obviously straight and uncomfortable; Wilson, because he was still at a loss as to what this even _was_ and, maybe deep down inside or something, he was even more afraid that House _wasn’t_ straight and uncomfortable.

God.

He’d been married three times. He’d had relationships with dozens of other women in the past. Never once had there been anything to indicate any kind of attraction to men. 

To be perfectly honest, he was more than content with the way their relationship was right now. If he never did anything about it, and House never found out, and nothing ever changed, well. Wilson could think of worse things. 

Not that there were many things worse than the idea of House leaving him. 

Safely in his own office, Wilson sat down heavily behind his desk. Most heterosexual men, he reckoned, did not find it necessary to prove said heterosexuality to themselves multiple times a week. Still, the idea of having to find something to describe the way he felt, to have to change the label he’d fit comfortably inside for most of his life, scared him. 

Not for the first time, Wilson wished he had someone he could talk to about all this. Someone besides House. Who would probably just make fun of him anyways, all things considered. He’d probably just end up venting to his therapist about it, or maybe drunkenly rambling to Cuddy until she made him go home. Neither option sounded like the most exciting thing in the world.

House was the only person he truly felt comfortable talking to. Maybe, then, it was for the best that he never found out.


	2. Chapter 2

Cameron leaned back in her seat in the lab, frustrated. 

“Negative again,” she announced.

Foreman sighed. “A1C levels were normal. Back to the whiteboard, I guess.”

Chase, who had until then been off getting another history, poked his head in the door. “Find anything?”

The other two turned to look at him, annoyance written clearly on their faces.

“What?” He asked, seemingly oblivious. “It’s nearly lunchtime. If we haven’t got anything, he’s gonna make us work through our break while he goes off with Wilson again.”

“Of course he is,” Foreman muttered, smirking. “But if you’re just gonna acknowledge it like that, you may as well pay up now.”

Chase glowered at him. “You know I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s okay, Chase, you don’t have to be a kiss-ass when he’s not around to hear.”

“I’m not being a _kiss-ass_ , I just don’t like to speculate about other people’s sex lives.”

“Well, that would be news to me. And to the nurses who keep a betting pool on whether or not you’re secretly gay.”

Chase turned red. “You’re not serious.”

“House has two hundred saying you are,” Cameron volunteered. Chase turned redder.

“Anyways,” Foreman cut in, directly the conversation back to its original topic, “we should probably head back now, if we want to catch House before he ditches us.”

Cameron smiled innocently at Chase, who was beginning to look like he might bite someone. Shaking his head, Foreman once again led the way back to the conference room. If he was the only one in this damn place who was gonna get any work done, so be it.

-

“Run them again, then.”

“We _did_. It’s not any of those.”

“So, back to square one. Differential round two, go!” House uncapped his marker, waiting. 

Cameron sighed. “Some kind of infection, maybe?”

Foreman shook his head. “White count was normal. Our best bet is something autoimmune.”

“Is that with or without ignoring the admitting symptoms?” House didn’t look impressed. Foreman glared back.

“There’s gotta be a dozen different things that cause most of those symptoms,” Chase huffed. 

“Then I recommend you get busy testing. I’m going home.”

Foreman looked surprised. “Not eating with Wilson today?”

Something in the atmosphere changed at the mention of Wilson’s name. There was a flash of a nameless thing in House’s eyes, just for a second; really, the only person who would’ve noticed was Wilson himself. Cameron and Foreman made almost knowing eye contact, and left wordlessly to do more testing. Chase lingered, hesitant.

“What do you want?” 

Chase opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, starting and stopping his sentence about five times before anything came out. 

House rolled his eyes. “I don’t have all day. The new episode of _ER_ airs in half an hour and I forgot to TiVo it.”

“Do you, uh — are you…” Chase paused, unsure, before barreling on, politeness be damned. “Are you gay?”

There was a full minute of dead silence. Chase stood still, rooted to the spot, trying to read the expression on House’s face. 

Finally, _finally_ , he spoke.

“Sorry, Chase, I’m not gonna sleep with you. Should I go ahead and let the nurses’ station know I’m owed my 200, or what?”

“Only if you give it to me,” Chase muttered, mildly shell-shocked. “Gonna be out about that much pretty soon.”

A flicker of a smile passed across House’s lips at that. Chase almost felt better about the whole thing, until his pager beeped rather urgently.

“What is it?” House tried to catch a look at the tiny screen.

Chase’s face fell. “It’s from Foreman. Her kidneys are failing.”

-

“New symptom!”

The team watched tiredly as House excitedly wrote _kidney failure_ on the whiteboard.

“Is it a symptom, or a complication?” Foreman asked, scrubbing a hand over his face.

House shrugged. “You tell me.”

“Well, if it’s a symptom, it’s most likely end stage renal failure.”

“Again,” Chase pointed out, “she’s hypotensive. Not exactly a common symptom in that one.”

“Either way, she’s going to need dialysis, and probably a transplant,” Cameron reminded them.

House nodded approvingly. “Foreman and Chase, go start her on dialysis. Cameron, do something else. I’m gonna go see about a transplant.”

He turned and left, and Cameron suspected Cuddy was about to receive an unpleasant guest. Foreman and Chase went on their way as well, leaving Cameron alone in the conference room. 

With nothing else to do, she made up her mind that she would get House’s paperwork up to date, just for her own peace of mind.

-

The blinds were drawn in House’s office when Wilson walked in, having brazenly made up his mind that he had to say _something_. As such, he didn’t expect to see Cameron sitting in House’s chair, probably filling out all the backed-up paperwork he’d been neglecting for the past month or so. 

She glanced up, surprised, and then a strange expression touched her features for just a short moment. 

“Hi, Dr. Wilson,” she greeted, perfectly pleasant. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, uh, sorry, Dr. Cameron.” He tried his best not to sound disappointed. “You wouldn’t happen to know where House is, would you?”

There it was again — that weird look on her face. “He went to talk to Cuddy — our patient needs a kidney transplant. Leave a message?”

Wilson shook his head. “Not important. I’ll find him later.”

Cameron nodded, and opened her mouth like she was going to ask him something; then she cocked her head, almost like she was studying his face, and the question died on her lips.

“Are you okay?” she asked instead.

He had to consciously bite back a sigh. _No_ , he wanted to yell, _I’m not okay and probably never will be again_ , but he just smiled softly. Cameron didn’t need that put on her right now. 

“Just… tired, I guess,” he muttered. “Long day. Lots of patients. House.”

Cameron frowned slightly. “Are you sure that’s all? Because if you need to talk…”

Wilson huffed out a laugh. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but one of House’s fellows is probably the last person I’d talk to about this, except maybe him.”

“What does House have to do with it?”

Oops. “I never said he did.”

“No,” Cameron said, her voice turning accusatory, “you said you wouldn’t talk to any of us about it, _or_ House, and it seems like you tell him everything. Either it’s about him, or it’s about something to do with him.”

“He’s trained you well, hasn’t he?” Wilson muttered. 

“So which is it?” Cameron prodded.

He heaved a sigh, stood up, paced a bit. “Neither,” he finally forced out. 

Before him, Cameron just looked at him quizzically. 

“It’s…” Whatever words he was looking for, they weren’t coming. “It’s more of a ‘I don’t want this held over me for the rest of the month’ kind of thing.”

That was a lie. If House found out, he’d definitely hold it over Wilson’s head, yes, but that wasn’t the real issue here. 

“Swear to god I won’t tell anyone.” Leaning forward, Cameron still looked uncertain about what she was doing for a minute, before finally resting her chin on one hand.

“I - I, uh. Well. I have this… friend. Not House. Different friend. She’s uh, she’s a nurse. Down in Oncology.” Unsatisfied with his stuttered-out lie, Wilson paused to regroup a little. Cameron continued to eye him suspiciously, however, in that cool, calculating way she had, so he dove back in.

“We’ve been friends for a while now, and I really like what we have. It’s… comfortable. I never intended for it to be anything other than platonic, didn’t know it _could_ be anything other than platonic, but I guess, uh, I guess that didn’t hold true. 

“I can’t hide it forever. Sooner or later, h— she’s going to figure it out, and then things’ll be over between us. This is, uh, probably the first time I’ve ever had this happen to me, actually. It’s — it’s weird.”

Cameron looked thoughtful for a minute. “How do you know she doesn’t feel the same?”

“She can’t. I really don’t think she’s physically capable of it.”

“As in ‘she’s an asshole,’ or as in ‘she’s not into guys?’”

Wilson wanted so badly to break out laughing right then and there. The answer was yes to both, technically, but that would be too obvious. 

“The second one.”

“So what’s the harm in telling her?” Wilson frowned, mildly confused. Cameron plowed forward. “If you know she’s gonna reject you, what’s the harm in just letting her know? You of all people should know how important communication is in a relationship.”

The jab at Wilson’s past romantic escapades, no matter how vague, could’ve come directly from House. He really did teach his fellows well. 

Cameron was staring at him. Wilson realized she was waiting for him to answer her, and sighed again. He was doing that a lot, lately. 

“I like what we have already. The last thing I want is for things to change because of my stupid feelings. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever felt as comfortable with anyone else as I have with him. Her!” He watched Cameron closely to see if she’d noticed the pronoun slip-up, but as far as he could tell, she was oblivious. 

“Well,” she started, “if your feelings have changed, then the relationship already has, too.”

As much as he was loath to admit it, she was probably right. Every interaction they’d had in the past few days had felt strained and awkward, like something was missing.

“So you think I should just tell him?”

Cameron’s eyes narrowed, and a sly grin spread across her face. Wilson’s heart dropped all the way through the floor. It was too late to correct himself now.

“Oh, my god.” She laughed. Loudly. “Oh, my god — _House_? Really?”

“How — what — I never even said his name! Why would you think that? I don’t — I don’t —”

Shaking her head with disbelief, Cameron laughed until she was wheezing. 

“I’m glad my misfortune is so funny to you,” Wilson grouched, crossing his arms. 

“No, it’s just that everyone’s made fun of me forever for having a stupid little crush on him, but you? Liking _House_? It’s just — it’s a weird little moment of solidarity, almost. Plus, Chase is gonna owe Foreman and I a hundred dollars each.”

“Wh — do you three just bet on absolutely anything, regardless of whether there’s any factual base to it?”

Cameron shrugged. 

The weight of what she had just said finally hit Wilson, though, and it felt like a sack of bricks.

“You can’t tell them.” His heart rate accelerated as a million different scenarios raced through his head, what could happen if one of them let it slip, none of them good.

“Why not?” Cameron asked, all innocence. 

Wilson clenched his jaw and spoke through ground teeth. “One of you will tell House, and then —”

“Tell House what?” House asked, suddenly appearing in the door to his office. “That you’re madly in love with me? Thanks, but I’m not ready for that kind of commitment yet.”

Wilson rolled his eyes, sinking quickly into the easy rhythm of their banter. “Don’t flatter yourself, House. You want Chinese or pizza for dinner tonight?”

“I’m in more of an Indian mood, actually. I’ll provide the beer.”

Cameron looked back and forth between House and Wilson, clearly having made up her mind about something. Wilson did _not_ want to know what.

“We had Indian last night. Chinese or pizza, or you can buy something yourself.”

It was House’s turn to roll his eyes. “Pizza. Now stop flirting with my team, I can’t afford to have you paying alimony to Cameron, here.”

Wilson shook his head, fondness so entwined with exasperation that he didn’t know where the one stopped and the other started. “I need to  
go anyways. Got a prescription for hydrocortisone to pick up for a patient.”

House paused, his eyes suddenly looking straight past him.

“Guess your patient is gonna be fine,” Wilson said to Cameron, before House finally zoned back to reality.

He dragged Cameron back into the conference room, and she cast a final sparkly-eyed smile over her shoulder as the door shut behind her. 

Wilson groaned again and got to his feet, heading back to his own office. He could probably stand to mope somewhere that didn’t belong to the source of his moping.

-

“So it was Addison’s?”

“Yep.” House laid down heavily on Wilson’s couch, the awkwardness of the previous day long forgotten. “Should’ve known, really. I’ve been…”

He waved a hand absentmindedly. _Distracted_ , supplied Wilson internally. _Me too._

“Anyways. Lunch?”

“I assume you’re buying,” Wilson quipped, checking to make sure he had his wallet.

“Always.” House made no move to get off the couch.

Wilson looked at him, slightly quizzical. “I thought you wanted lunch?”

“Ngh -- yeah, hold on.” He grimaced slightly, bracing himself -- this was gonna hurt.

Ah. The leg. Wilson frowned. “Bad pain day?”

“Something like that.”

Listening to him groan as he dragged himself into a sitting position stopped just short of causing Wilson real, physical pain. Quietly, he reached into one of the drawers of his desk, pulled out a small orange bottle, handed it off without a word. He hated the way House took the stuff like it was candy, but he’d take that over House in pain any day.

“Need a hand?”

House glowered at the other man, as if the offer was a direct insult. However, even leaning heavily on his cane, his leg threatened to give in under his weight. Sighing, he knocked back a couple Vicodin, and reached out a hand towards Wilson, who took it; he braced his other hand against House’s back, steadying him as he stood. The whole ordeal was embarrassingly tender, strangely intimate, and lasted a total of ten seconds, ending in an awkward silence.

“You sure you don’t want me to just bring something back here…?” Wilson trailed off, the look on House’s face answer enough.

“Just ‘cause it hurts doesn’t mean I want to be patronized,” House grunted, making his way towards the door. “You owe me an extra bag of chips for that.”

Wilson shook his head in exasperation, a fond smile playing across his lips. Things might be okay, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

“This is literally painful to watch,” Cameron muttered, head on the table. 

Chase gave her a look. “If you two weren’t so keen on spying, maybe you’d actually learn a thing or two.”

Foreman, who was carefully watching House and Wilson from across the cafeteria, raised an eyebrow. “What could you have possibly learned that you would be eager to share with us?”

“Well, first of all,” Chase began, “I may have, uh. Asked House if he was gay.”

Foreman and Cameron stared at him, and then turned to look at each other, and then back to him.

“Are you out of your mind?” Foreman sounded incredulous.

Cameron leaned forward, propping her face on her hands. “What’d he say?”

Smirking, Chase lowered his voice but spoke with all the confidence of someone who was sure he’d won. “He said he wouldn’t sleep with me. That means he’s straight!”

If ‘moments away from slamming one’s head through a table was an emotion,’ it would probably be the only explanation for the look on Foreman’s face. 

“What?” Chase sounded genuinely puzzled.

“He’s deflecting, idiot,” Foreman said as if it should be obvious. “He wants to screw with you, but he doesn’t want to risk being honest if there’s any chance it could go poorly for him.”

“You suddenly seem very knowledgeable on the behaviors of closeted gay men.” 

Foreman very nearly did slam his head into the table that time. “Drop the accusatory tone, Reverend Chase. I’m not into you. I’m not technically closeted, either. If you’d asked, I could’ve told you I was bi.”

“Boys, please, you can kiss later,” Cameron interjected. “I learned something of my own today, and it’s _actually useful_ to this whole thing, unlike House making weird comments to Chase, which for the record he does at least once a week.”

“Well?” Chase pressed, clearly disgruntled at being singled out.

Cameron smiled conspiratorially. “I saw Wilson yesterday. He was telling me he’s friends with this nurse in Oncology, only he sounded like he didn’t believe his own story; as he talks about her, he screws up the pronouns and says ‘he’ instead of ‘she’ twice, but for the sake of getting information I just pretended not to notice. Until he messed up and didn’t catch himself, and then when I pointed it out he admitted to it, just like that. He’s worried he’ll ruin his friendship with House.”

“Oh, my God,” Foreman half-whispered. “They’re more repressed than Chase.”

“Speaking of.” Cameron held out her hand towards Chase, who rolled his eyes and began digging around in his wallet for the money he now owed.

“So what do we do about this?” Chase asked, fishing for a second hundred dollar bill.

“Nothing,” Foreman said decisively. “We aren’t getting paid to interfere with our boss’s love life.”

Cameron looked almost wistful for a second, watching House snatch food off Wilson’s plate on the other side of the cafeteria. “What if we lock them in a room together and force them to talk about it?”

Chase and Foreman stared at her, and then turned to look at each other, and then back to her.

“You know what?” A mischievous grin stretched across Chase’s face. “That might just work.”

-

Wilson jiggled the handle of the closet door again, to no avail. “It’s locked from the outside,” he groaned.

“Now seems like a poor time for a heart-to-heart, but I could make the funniest joke right now,” House mused, almost to himself.

“I’m not sure if I even want to know how those two thoughts work together,” Wilson muttered, trying to think of a way to unlock the door handle.

House laughed, the sound uncharacteristically soft. “You probably don’t.” Then, quieter -- “God, I must be stoned.”

A jolt of anxiety ran up Wilson’s spine.“How much Vicodin did you _take_?” 

“A normal amount, _Mom_. My leg hurts and this isn’t helping, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m going to page someone to get us out of here,” Wilson murmured. “And then I’m going to go tell Cuddy someone shoved me in a supply closet with you and locked the door.”

“Page Cameron,” House muttered. “She’s probably too busy being in love with me to suspect anything, whereas anyone else and it’d spread like wildfire.”

Wilson laughed humorlessly, and then realized all too suddenly. _Cameron_. 

House was still cracking lame jokes, but Wilson wasn’t really listening; he was a thousand miles away, planning his revenge on Cameron, who was hopefully coming to let them out.

“Shit,” House winced, bringing Wilson back to planet Earth. Clearly, their current position didn’t allow his leg enough room to stand comfortably without cramping.

“Here,” Wilson said softly, shifting so that he was standing more in front of House’s bad leg. Gently, his fingers featherlight on the other’s leg, he positioned himself so that House would be able to stretch out his leg by resting it between Wilson’s.

Finally, _finally_ , there was the sound of a key in the lock of the door handle, but the telltale _click_ of the lock actually sliding open failed to sound.

“Have you talked yet?” Cameron’s voice sounded annoyingly caring. Wilson stifled a groan. 

“Yeah,” House grunted, “undid fifteen years of repression in one go. Let us out.”

“Not until I know you’ve talked.”

“Why do you care?” House turned to Wilson, and, straight-faced, said, “I’m in the closet. Can we come out, now?” 

Wilson heard Cameron sigh heavily. Clearly, she had interpreted that as an off-color joke; he, however, had detected a hint of sincerity in the statement. 

“Your turn, Wilson,” their captor insisted through the door.

“I’m in love with you,” Wilson deadpanned. If something like sadness glinted in House’s eyes for just a second, well, he could attribute that to the light flooding the small space as the door finally opened.

“Glad we’re on the same page, then,” House muttered, extricating himself from Wilson.

Cameron offered Wilson a small smile as House limped off. 

“That wasn’t that bad, right?” She seemed genuinely pleased with herself. 

Wilson turned to her, frustration clearly written on his face. “You think he was lying. He thinks I was. Nobody’s happy. Maybe you should just stay out of other people’s business.”

Cameron’s kicked-puppy expression almost made Wilson feel bad about snapping at her like that. Almost. 

“I -- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean --” 

Wilson just shook his head and turned to leave. He had an appointment with a patient, and then he was going to have a conversation that, frankly, was long overdue.


	4. Chapter 4

“I need advice.”

Cuddy looked up from her desk, clearly in the middle of something. “Whatever it is, I’m 90% sure my answer is going to be ‘don’t do it.’”

House maneuvered his way over to the couch and sat down heavily, fidgeting with his cane. Cuddy, apparently concerned by the lack of sexual harassment, set down her stack of papers.

“What’s wrong?” She seemed wary.

 _Everything_ , House wanted to yell. _Everything has gone completely off the rails!_

“My last patient,” he said instead. “She had Addison’s disease. Fit all the symptoms. Boring. Should’ve been easy to diagnose.”

Cuddy furrowed her brows, not understanding. “So you saved her even though she was boring. What’s the issue here, exactly?”

He tapped his fingers against his cane. “The _issue_ is that I didn’t catch it until her kidneys were failing because of an adrenal crisis. And then, I _still_ misdiagnosed it.”

“I don’t think I understand what you want me to do right now.”

“I was _distracted_. What if she’d died, because I was too busy thinking about… other things? What then?”

“Are you high right now?” Cuddy crossed her arms.

“No more than usual. Well. Maybe a little more than usual. I was already having a bad day, and then Cameron locked me in a closet with Wilson, so.”

“She did _what_?”

House waved a hand dismissively. “That’s beside the point! What I need right now is for you to tell me what the hell I should do.”

“About Cameron?”

“No!” He huffed. “About the… being distracted.”

She sighed and sat down. “Care to elaborate on why, exactly, you’re so distracted?”

His face flushed red. He had not intended for that to happen. Cuddy looked concerned for a minute, but concern gave way to intrigue gave way to an incredulous smile.

“Don’t tell me you actually _like_ someone,” she exclaimed. “Is it Cameron? Is it that new nurse in radiology?”

“You don’t know her,” he said stubbornly. 

“What, is she a hooker or something?”

“No. Are you going to help me, or what?”

“Have you tried talking to her?”

House groaned. “Not an option.”

“Then I don’t know how to help you with this. Can’t you go annoy Wilson for a little while?”

“Also not an option.”

“Then go tell Cameron about it, I’m sure she’d love to listen. I have a lot of work to do, House, can you at least just come back later?”

Heaving an unhappy sigh, House pulled himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. He had an even better idea: leaving early, heading out, and getting absolutely wasted. _Can’t have feelings when you’re drunk_.

-

House had been out of Cuddy’s office for barely five minutes when Wilson poked his head in.

“Hi,” he greeted her. “Mind if I come in?”

“As long as you aren’t seeking romance advice,” she said good-humoredly. The way Wilson’s face fell told her that was, unfortunately, exactly why he was here. “Not you too.”

He looked mildly confused, coming the rest of the way into her office. “Me too?”

“Seems to be the running theme of today,” Cuddy muttered, sorting through the stack of forms on her desk. “Last thing I need is _two_ department heads acting like lovesick puppies. I don’t know how I’m supposed to run a hospital like this.”

Wilson looked like he wanted to ask a question, but held his tongue. “So, do you want me to go, or…?”

Cuddy shook her head. “By all means, stay. Honestly, I’ve lost the desire to do paperwork at this point, so there’s only so much I’m going to finish today.”

Taking a seat on her couch, Wilson offered a chuckle and a somewhat queasy smile, fidgeting with his hands. Clearly, he was about to dump something huge on her; she could only hope it would be something good.

“I, uh… I need some advice. About a relationship. I think, uh, I think I may have accidentally fallen in love with a friend of mine.”

Good Lord. Today was really the day of men being too repressed to deal with their feelings, wasn’t it? 

“I just… we aren’t viable as a couple, I don’t think, and I don’t want to ruin our friendship by saying something, especially if she doesn’t like me like that, which is probably the most likely outcome, honestly. She’s definitely not gay. And then we somehow managed to get locked in a closet together, which--”

Cuddy cut him off. “Why would you want her to be gay if you like her?”

Wilson just looked at her for a minute, eyes wide, silent.

A hint of a grin touched the corners of her lips. “Finish what you were saying.”

“We got locked in a closet together, and it was weird, and there definitely more tension than there should have been, and Cameron wouldn’t let us out until we ‘talked about our feelings,’ and -- wait.” Wilson visibly paled when he realized he’d been rambling. “Ignore that last sentence.”

“Oh, my God,” Cuddy whispered incredulously. “Oh, my God -- I knew it.”

“Knew what?” Wilson’s voice shook, almost imperceptibly.

“House,” she said simply, decisively. 

Immediately, Wilson’s face flushed bright red; sighing, he sunk his head into his hands.

“What am I going to do?” His voice, muffled though it was, quivered with the beginning of a sob.

Cuddy sort of felt bad about laughing at him. She got up, quietly, and sat down next to him on the couch. 

“Hey, it’s okay — it’s alright, okay? It's going to be okay.” She put an arm around Wilson’s shoulders, trying to console him. 

With impeccable timing as always, Cameron chose that moment to stick her head through the door. She quickly took stock of the situation and started to back out of the room, but not quickly enough.

“Dr. Cameron,” Cuddy called. She peeked back into the office. “Where’s House gone?”

“I think he left,” Cameron said meekly. Seeing that Cuddy didn’t intend to keep her any longer, she scurried off once more.

“What did you say to get Cameron to let you out of the closet?” Cuddy prompted gently. 

Wilson groaned. “House made some lame joke about being in the closet. I said I was in love with him because I knew he wouldn’t believe me.”

“You’re telling him. Properly. If you two end up dancing around this and then fall out because of it, the whole hospital will probably fall apart or something.”

“No, I — I can’t, I really can’t, I — I can’t risk losing him.” Wilson dug his fingernails into his scalp. “I’d rather just keep up this weird pretense for as long as possible.”

“Okay. Tell you what.” Cuddy released Wilson’s shoulders and straightened up, smoothing his shirt down. “It’s after five, you don’t have any more appointments today. Go home and get some rest. Tomorrow, the two of you have to work something out, but until then, stop worrying about it.”

Wilson nodded miserably, brushing the tears from his face. “Yeah. Right. I’ll do that.” 

Cuddy watched him go, wondering how the hell it happened that she had become the resident Romantic Advice Giver. On the other hand, assuming this all went well, the heads of dermatology and cardiology were going to owe her really, really good.

-

As it turned out, it was still very much possible to feel emotions when you were drunk. Perhaps even more so.

House, however, stubbornly refused to give up on his theory, despite the fact that the bartender had threatened to cut him off over an hour ago. He’d managed to talk him out of it on the condition he surrender his keys, which was probably for the best anyway. 

It was getting late, however, and if House actually wanted to get home, he needed to call someone soon. It would have to wait a little longer, he told himself; he was still rather occupied with being incredibly drunk, and as a result, stupidly emotional.

 _He couldn’t have_ known, House reasoned with his (admittedly quite unreasonable) psyche, _he was just trying to get Cameron to let them out._

Cameron. Stupid Cameron. She must have picked up on him at some point. Of course she did; between trying to convince herself she was in love with House while pretending not to be and repressing as hard as she possibly could in order to deny the obvious fact that she was a lesbian, she was watching House every second she could, scrutinizing his every move, and _no one_ is more perceptive than a gay person who hasn’t realized they’re gay yet. One of the universe’s cruel little microcosms.

Because of Cameron, House had told Wilson his deepest, most well-kept-yet-flippantly-revealed secret, and Wilson had probably thought he was joking.

 _That’s what you get for constantly making jokes about it_ , his subconscious informed him. House told his subconscious to shut up.

And then he’d dropped _that_ bomb on him, inadvertently shattering the sense of stability he’d struggled to build up over the years, ever since he’d first realized what he was feeling -- and immediately bottled up and shoved deep, deep down, of course.

Not like he’d meant to -- he’d been lying, obviously, for all the same reasons he would think House had been. It just wasn’t fair that House could have his emotions so easily screwed with by the only person he cared about enough to keep around, and that didn’t even leave him with a reliable source to vent to.

God, he needed to call someone already. All he wanted was to pass out in his own bed and wake up sick and miserable tomorrow morning, just in time to go to work and piss off everyone around him just a little more than usual.

Of course, when he thought about it, the only number he could remember was Wilson’s. If his own phone wasn’t dead, it wouldn’t be a problem, he had other people’s numbers saved in there, but his phone was, unfortunately, dead, leaving him with one option. 

“Can I use your phone?” House slurred to the bartender, who motioned to the phone mounted to the wall. He nodded, slipped off his stool, and stumbled over to the wall to make his call.

The phone rang, once, twice, three times --

“H’lo?” The voice on the other end sounded like it had just been startled out of a brief, uneasy sleep. 

House had to suppress an idiotic grin at the sound of his friend’s voice. Were he a little more sober, he would’ve considered a moment how absolutely _whipped_ that sounded and immediately pretended to be full of vitriol. Or something. 

“I,” House informed Wilson, “am very drunk.”

On the other end of the phone, Wilson groaned. “It’s 11:30 on a Thursday, House.”

“If I say please, will you come get me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t make you do that,” he mumbled. There was the sound of fabric rustling, presumably Wilson dragging himself out of bed. “I’m on my way. Try not to black out before I get there.”

And so House waited, very nearly alone in the bar, until Wilson arrived.


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re quiet tonight,” Wilson commented.

House watched the scenery speed by through the car window. He didn’t have any sort of rebuttal to offer, just silent acknowledgment; that, and the more rational part of his brain was concerned that if he opened his mouth he’d say something he’d regret when he was a little more sober.

“Look, if this is about earlier…” He almost winced at the guilt in Wilson’s voice. Maybe he _did_ know, after all. “I’m sorry about that. It, uh, it sort of was my fault we ended up there.”

Now that was interesting. What could Wilson have possibly to have prompted Cameron to pull a stunt like that? 

Maybe he _hadn’t_ been lying. Actually, that was worse. It was much easier to ignore your feelings when you knew you weren’t consequently ignoring someone else’s.

“House?”

He snapped back to the present, finally tearing his eyes off the road. “How?”

Wilson glanced over at him, brow creased. “What do you mean, ‘how?’”

“How is it your fault that Cameron locked us in a closet together until we ‘talked about our feelings?’”

He released a shaky breath. “We should wait until tomorrow to talk about that. About… why.”

“Right, because that doesn’t rouse my suspicion at all,” House snarked. Wilson rolled his eyes, but House noticed his grip on the steering wheel had tightened significantly. No amount of feigned indifference was going to fool him.

“Well?” House prompted. Eyes on the road, Wilson stayed silent.

The rest of the ride to House’s was dead quiet. House continued to stare out the window at the blurred shapes of various trees, Wilson kept up his white-knuckled hold on the steering wheel, and both of them conveniently pretended there was no obvious tension in the air.

Upon arrival, House tried to get out as fast as he could, half-hoping that if he got inside fast enough he’d be able to close the door before Wilson could get in.

Unfortunately, he had overlooked two very important details — namely that a) he was still quite drunk, and b) Wilson had two functioning legs and was dead sober. He caught up to him before he had even cleared the sidewalk.

Silently, Wilson looped his arm underneath House’s, steadying him as he stumbled up the stairs to his front door.

“Key,” he muttered absentmindedly, shifting his cane to the other hand to dig through his pockets.

Wilson produced his own key instead, unlocking the door for him; House nodded his silent thanks.

“Y’know,” House mumbled half to himself once they were both inside, “it’s not your fault. You don’t know.”

The rational part of his brain did not appreciate that. This was _exactly_ the sort of thing it had been trying to prevent.

“What don’t I know?” Wilson asked, half-humoring, half-hesitant.

House just shook his head. “Earlier. Just… don’t joke like that again.”

Wilson smiled, albeit a bit sadly. “I wasn’t.”

In his less-than-sober state, House couldn’t properly wrap his head around the words. For a minute, he continued trying to ponder it, but gave up when it occurred to him he wouldn’t remember in the morning, anyway,

“Tell me tomorrow,” he said decisively. “In the morning. G’night.”

Sighing, Wilson bid him goodnight, but hung around a bit longer anyhow; against his better judgement, when House finally heard the click of his front door closing, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something inexplicable, all alone in the dark of his room.

-

“You’re late,” Chase announced.

“And your sweater is ugly,” House countered, setting down his bag and hooking his cane on the whiteboard. “Oh, so sorry, I thought we were stating the obvious.”

Foreman glanced at Cameron, who still looked exceptionally guilty. Something was clearly up with House; he wasn’t as good as he thought at masking what he was feeling.

“Are you hungover?” Foreman asked accusingly, noting the darker-than-usual circles under his boss’s eyes and the particularly heavy lean on his cane.

“No,” House scoffed, pulling a bottle of Vicodin out of his jacket pocket and spilling two into his hand. “I just thought that ‘migraine-chic’ might be making a comeback.”

Cameron cleared her throat, shuffling the stack of case files in her hands. “Do you… wanna have a look at these? A few of them seem pretty interesting.”

He rolled his eyes. God, he was really in a mood today. “Unless that’s a euphemism --” he paused, pretending to consider -- “no.”

“What’s your deal today?” Chase prodded, sounding more curious than annoyed.

“Despite Cameron’s best attempts, I am still single,” House lamented. Cameron’s face flushed bright red with the implications, but she sat up a bit straighter; there had been a note of sincerity in his tone the other two would’ve missed.

Foreman stood up, clearly having had enough. “Well, if we aren’t taking a case today, could I go? There’s something I wanted to do over in neuro--” 

He was interrupted by a person tapping on the glass door of the conference room.

“Hi, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt -- House? Can, uh, can we talk?”

House and Wilson made eye contact, some inscrutable exchange that grew tenser by the second; after about a full minute of complete silence, House nodded, grabbed his cane off the board, and the two of them went to Wilson’s office.

Cameron, Chase, and Foreman all exchanged a glance, and a beat of silent agreement passed. Then, all three of them scrambled out of their seats and over to the wall between the conference room and Wilson’s office, any pretense of not eavesdropping long since abandoned.

“You were gone when I woke up,” House was saying on the other side of the wall.

“You wake up late every day. Some of us like to get to work on time,” Wilson was countering.

“I heard you leave last night.”

A beat. “Oh.”

The three of them all made slightly mortified eye contact -- they hadn’t, had they? 

“Now, you’re going to tell me whatever it was you couldn’t last night. Hold on, though.”

Then there was silence. No talking, no whispering, no heavy breathing -- just silence. Then, the conference room phone rang. Panicked, Foreman jumped up and grabbed it, and then, trying to sound composed, answered it.

“Hello, this is Dr. Foreman?”

“Go to neuro or something. You three can find something better to do than listen in on my conversations,” House ordered, before hanging up.

Through the wall, Chase heard Wilson laugh shortly, equal parts exasperated and amused. Unsure what to do, he and Cameron retreated to House’s office, while Foreman, who supposed he did have better things to do, went off to neurology with a promise that they’d keep him updated.

Now, all that was left was to wait.

-

“Just spit it out, already.”

Wilson scrubbed his hands down his face. “Give me a minute! I have to prepare for the, uh... fallout of this.”

“Would it help if I go first?” House hadn’t thrown himself down on Wilson’s couch yet, which was unusual. It almost made Wilson nervous.

“Sure. Fine. Do that.” 

House looked at him for a second, something hard to read in his eyes; if Wilson didn’t know better, he’d almost call it apprehension. 

“Yesterday. What I said. It… wasn’t exactly a lie.”

Wilson raised eyebrows slightly, a look that said _do elaborate_.

House frowned, and then groaned slightly, rolling his eyes. “God, this is so lame. I’m bi. That good?”

As much as he hated to think it, that confession seemed almost tame compared to the bombshell Wilson was about to drop on him, especially when he considered how vulnerable House would’ve had to make himself even to _think_ about sharing it.

“Yeah, that’s, uh… I’m sorry about this, in advance,” Wilson murmured.

“Just get on with it,” House prompted, eager as always to keep the conversation moving away from his own deeply personal revelations. “I’m starting to think you’re about to confess your love to me.”

Of course the bastard would joke about that and somehow manage to get it right, first try. Too tired now to even argue, or be even a little upset, Wilson didn’t say a word; he simply sunk his face into one hand, propping the other on his hip. 

House was obviously confused. For someone who never missed anything, he did a grand job of missing some pretty big things. Wilson was very nearly ready to just give up and call it a day when the realization struck. His eyes widened slowly, and his mouth hung open just a bit, exactly like when he had an epiphany mid-conversation. Wilson _really_ hoped he wasn’t just having an epiphany mid-conversation.

“Oh, my God,” House whispered, looking surprised, probably for the first time in years, by something Wilson had done. “Oh, my God, you’re serious.”

“Of course I’m serious!” Wilson exclaimed, and it came out rougher than he meant for it to, raspier. “You’re so… you’re so thick, sometimes, you’re so certain that everything’s a puzzle that when it’s obvious, when the answer is right in front of you, with absolutely no convoluted problem-solving to it, you can’t figure out for the life of you what the hell it might mean!”

Looking rather stricken, House took a step closer to Wilson, and then another step, and then he stood and looked at him again. “I’m sorry.”

And then, with absolutely no preamble, he kissed him.

It caught Wilson off guard, but he made no move to break away; if anything, he just kissed back harder. For a moment, the world narrowed until it was just him and House, fitted so perfectly together, House’s fingers, calloused from years of guitars and canes, looped around the back of his neck and threaded through his hair; his own hands flitting lightly to whatever surface they could grasp, from the small of House’s back to the broad of his shoulders to the sturdy of his hips. 

When at last they broke away, flushed and breathing heavily, Wilson smiled, and House smiled back, something real and genuine, untouched by pain or sarcasm or mockery. 

“Mind if we do that again?” Wilson mumbled, feeling slightly dazed.

“Absolutely,” House breathed, and leaned back in, grinning against Wilson’s mouth. 

This was, quite possibly, the best thing that had happened to him in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on [tumblr](dykecameron.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
